


Worship in the Darkness

by Joiedevivre



Category: The Borgias
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joiedevivre/pseuds/Joiedevivre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What can any man do when seeing the face of his god?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worship in the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> POV for Cesare in Lucrezia's bedroom from 3x02. Spoilers if you have not seen it.

He worships her. 

He does not know it, but all the same, she is his church, his god, his guiding force. Everything that he is, all that he has become, all may be undone by the simplest touch of her hand. He loves her with such a burning ferocity that it consumes him, wraps itself around him in a heavy, dark smother and it chokes him, the thought of her when she is not near to him. It is a curious thing, a perilous thing indeed, that a man such as he be so disquieted at the mere thought of her. 

It is a dangerous thing. 

It is his weakness. 

That much, he knows, and it builds a terror in his mind, the thoughts that come when he is alone. He has taken lives, he has made enemies in scores and deep down, it torments him, this weakness. Should his enemies ever discover the depth to which he loves her, how completely he is bound to her, they could destroy him, wholly and utterly. A man so lost in the shadows is untouchable, save by the light. The light can change the shadows, pierce the darkness and reach through the veil to bring him to life. Without the light, there is nothing. Blackness, forever. 

Life without Lucrezia is a world unknown, a place that must never be reached. And so he protects her, he guards her, with all the diligence in his heart. He is Borgia. And a Borgia may not be made weak by any but their own. 

Cesare does not believe in many things. But he believes in her, his goddess of gold, benevolent to her faithful disciple. And to come to this moment, so suddenly, so unaware, his heart fights wildly, rapturously at such attention from one so divine. He aches for her, but he is paralyzed at this moment, disbelieving at her lilting tease and disarmed by the sinuous curve of her hips. He does not know this game that she plays, the one with undisguised beckoning and what can any man do when seeing the face of his god? He cannot breathe, he can barely speak, so dumbfounded is he, and it is too much, he is set afire as he pulls away, and his whispered repetition, _what is this game?_ is all he can hear, think, say, as he cannot take his eyes off her. 

He has held her a thousand times, he has embraced her, caressed her cheeks, run his fingers through the endless spread of her long golden curls, but never this. Never seen her splayed out so openly, nakedly before him, and as she reaches out, slender fingers buried in his shirt to pull him closer, she needs no effort to bring him to her, he would always come willingly. The lengths to which he would go for her, the things that he might do, he dares not think of, so captivated is he. 

It is the pain in her eyes that breaks the spell of her, the quiet tear and soft confession, _I feel unloved_ , and with a surging passion, he does not know what he is doing, but he knows what she wants and her sweet, soft lips on his, it is like a breath after drowning, waking after sleeping. It is the light piercing the veil and he could throw himself towards it and bathe in it forever. 

The knock is harsh. It is the darkness. It is the world that daily keeps him from throwing himself at her feet and begging only to love her forever, nothing else. 

He feels lost, suddenly, as the walls of that world thunder down around him and he springs back, drawing away from his light. He leaves, fleet-footed in his return to his own chambers where he turns about, desolate in the asphyxiation of the silence and absence of her presence. The heat rises off his skin, heartbeat pounding, wits scattered, and, dare he think it, groin throbbing, aching. He can never be the same, and he knows it now. 

He worships her. He was no true cardinal, and it was not his ambition that drove him to throw off his cardinal's robes.

A man may only love one true god, and he has found his.


End file.
